


He's Only Sleeping

by nowhere_woman



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Introspection, M/M, actually, ahhhhhh, early beatles, my first fic ever guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-06-27 02:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowhere_woman/pseuds/nowhere_woman
Summary: John's fallen asleep on Paul. Paul can't bring himself to wake John up.(and vice versa!)*WARNING: very fluffy McLennon drabble*





	1. He's Only Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic (entirely!), so comments would really be appreciated. Positive and negative - I can take it!

     Cuddling with a friend isn't queer, is it?

     ...No, no, of course, it isn't. Even when your face is turning red—only because the bloody git won't give you any space, so you're obviously bound to feel a bit warm. It's not like Paul wanted to be like this the whole night—he'd have to leave soon. But John just looked so peaceful, something uncommon for him in waking life...Paul didn't have the heart to disturb that.

     He looked at the discarded glasses, lazily thrown on the couch by his forever-squinting best mate. Paul didn't know why John refused to wear them; he probably thought he didn't look good in them. For someone so convinced of his own intelligence, John could be a real idiot sometimes. The man would look good with long hair and granny glasses, as far as Paul was concerned. He almost made himself laugh—John, future god of rock-and-roll, with long hair and granny glasses! _Oh, Johnny..._

     Paul hadn't even noticed that he had started rubbing John's arm, but he just couldn't stop once he had. He had tried to leave a bit earlier, but John had just gone through some sort of spat with Cynthia—a bit more serious than that, from the sound of it, actually—and he knew these things affected John more than he liked to let on. So he stayed and comforted him. It would all get better now, wouldn't it? And if it didn't, there'd be hell to pay. John against the world, that's how he liked it.

     "You can be so difficult sometimes, you know that?" Paul whispered to his sleeping friend, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. Someday, they'd be famous. They may not be the next Elvis—or Elvis and Buddy Holly, with the help of John's glasses—but they'd be a close second. Just the two of them.  
Paul took another look at the inactive volcano curled up into him and fought the urge to press a hand against his face and touch. Was he feeling as hot as Paul was? _No, you idiot, he's asleep. Stop being weird. You like birds. Tits._  He loved pouty lips and smiles less world-weary than the ones of the still figure next to him...didn't he?

     It was normal to feel this way about your mates—you're around them long enough, and you start to feel a bond closer than friendship. _A platonic one!_ Ah, who gives a shit? It was just him and John. No one else in the world. No world beyond that of the dingy little couch they barely fit on. Just Paul and John, Paul McCartney and John Lennon against the world.  
"Paul McCartney and John Lennon," Paul whispered, over-taken by the need to voice his feelings aloud. It was such a simple statement, but it felt like the most important thing he had ever said—the only thing he had ever really needed to say. What a beautiful—

     "No."

     Paul's stomach dropped. He didn't say that. That must have meant... _oh, no. John's gonna think you're some kind of pervert, a creep—_  
     "John Lennon and Paul McCartney," John corrected with a smug smirk, one eye opened.  
     "Oh, you wanker!" Paul cried, taking a pillow and whipping it at his other half. Paul and John— _John and Paul_ —against the world. That's how it's going to be, Paul thought. Until the end of time.  



	2. He's Only in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and now, the tables have turned! Thanks for all the comments on the last chapter, you guys are the best!

     "What are you thinking about?"  
  
     "Huh?"

     "You've had this faraway look in your eyes for a while now...what's on your mind?"

     "Not faraway, Macca... _nearsighted_. I can't see a bloody thing."

     "I know what you look like when you're squinting, John...I also know what you look like when you're thinking hard on something. What's wrong, honestly?"

     John sighed. He looked down at Paul, only to be met with those signature McCartney doe eyes, as irresistible as ever. Especially when they were looking up at John from his lap.

     "It's not that, uh..." John trailed off, not sure how he was going to continue. _What the hell did I think I was going to say?!_

     "You can tell me, Johnny. I won't bite," Paul rubbed his arm encouragingly. A secret part of John liked being fussed over, but he wasn't weak enough to surrender to it yet.

     "I'm not a goddamn insolent child, Paul. You don't have to patronize me," John nearly regretted saying anything when he felt Paul go rigid on his legs. He didn't have to look down to know that he was being met with narrowed eyes almost masked by eyelashes. 

     "Fine."

     John was nearly afraid the edge in Paul's voice would cut him. He expected Paul to get up and go somewhere with significantly less angry-Lennon-energy in it, but all Paul did was shut his eyes. John was confused at first, but soon the minutes were passing by _and..._

    ...

    ...It was a nice feeling. John's hand through Paul's hair  _(when did it get there?!),_ John's legs cradling Paul's head  _(cradling? His head's just on your legs, Lennon, no need to make it queer)_...oh, God, John was right back to where he started at.

     It wasn't normal to be completely in love with your best mate, was it? It wasn't like he wanted to suck Paul's cock or anything, he was just in love with him. In love with everything Paul did. Even his most insufferable qualities had become endearing to John.

     ...And, boy, did he have insufferable qualities. Like the smug smile he got on his face when he'd sing a song John could barely guess the lyrics to. And the cute little glare he'd give, trying to be intimidating from behind his bird-type eyelashes...always matched with the same pout that would give Brigitte Bardot a run for her money.  _What the fuck?! Jesus Christ, I've become a bloody poofter!_

     John looked down at Paul again, same long eyelashes and pouty lips and raw talent that coursed through his veins and adorable laughter and penchant for the same stupid filthy jokes John loved.  _How lucky can a person be, to have someone like Paul?_  

     That was it, wasn't it? John found his soul mate. Most people could only dream of such a thing.

     But luck always has a way of balancing itself out. That was the drawback. John had found the love of his life.

_It just had to be a fucking man, didn't it?_

     John was about to be in one of his famous Lennon moods again, wasn't he? Angry at himself, at Paul, at fate for playing him like this, even if he didn't believe in the stupid sodding thing.

     But then he looked back down at Paul. Beautiful Paulie.  _His Macca._

     And as he moved the hand in Paul's hair down to Paul's cheek, nothing else in the world quite mattered.


End file.
